


Late Night Encounters

by Torpor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, I just want Dimitri to be happy, Not Dimileth, semi public blow jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpor/pseuds/Torpor
Summary: You find Dimitri still working late into the night and take matters into your own hands.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	Late Night Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Just like the last one I posted, I'm trying to entice Dima into coming home lots on Tuesday. Please sir, I have saved up 1750 orbs and they're all yours.
> 
> I also wanted to practice using second person perspective since I'll be using it at some point in my main project. If you want to see more things like this let me know, because it was pretty fun and quick to write, and I could always use more practice. 
> 
> As always, please let me know how I'm doing.

You open the door to his study and see Dimitri bent low over something, his pen scribbling furiously. You can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s stressed and annoyed. Normally, you wouldn’t interrupt him. His work was important, and he felt it was the only way he could atone for his past. You respected that. But… it was late. It was late and Faerghus is so cold, the bed so large and lonely without him in it. He’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t hear you come closer.

Your hands find his shoulders and you squeeze and knead, marveling at the dense, corded muscle there. He tenses and relaxes when he realizes it’s you, his pen pausing in his work as you continue to work the knots from his neck.

“When are you coming to bed?” you ask. He hums and leans back in his chair, his back flexing under your hands. It’s hard to believe sometimes that you landed such a specimen–such a man!–but there he is, warm and strong under your hands.

“I can’t say, I’m afraid. I still have quite a few things that need my attention,” he says. He catches your hand in his and kisses it. “Can you not sleep?” 

“Not without you there. I never can until I feel you next to me.” 

“I’m so sorry, Darling. I hadn’t realized… why don’t you sit with me? I’ll finish this up and we’ll go to bed,” he says. His voice is warm and gentle. There’s no reproach or annoyance. You settle down on his lap, and his arms drape around you for a moment, his lips pressing tenderly behind your right ear. You shiver, but he resumes his work rather than acknowledge it. You lean back, resting comfortably against his broad chest. Pressed so close to him, you can feel the minute flexing of his muscles as he writes. 

You could probably fall asleep here. He’s so warm, and he smells of cedar and smoke, like long nights by the fireside in the wilderness. It’s delightful and so very  _ him _ . You yawn and close your eyes, enjoying the feel of him pressed against you and the sound of his breathing. He’s there. He’s real. He’s  _ alive _ , and he’s  _ safe _ . It is only the solidness of his manhood poking against your bottom that stops you from drifting off.

It surprises you what can get its attention. Dimitri himself doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s hardening there under you, he just keeps working. Normally he gets flustered and red faced. Right now, he’s focused. It’s been a few days since the two of you had enough time to be young and in love. In a moment of mischief, you roll your hips down against him and his quill snaps, sending ink splattering over the desk as he moves to dip it once more. It misses the document he’s working on by a hair’s breadth. 

“Darling! Wh-what are you...” he trails off with a huff, his cheeks puffing out in a pout. “You can’t surprise me like that.” 

“I’m sorry, Love. I suppose I forgot myself. It’s easy to do when I have such a strong, handsome man.” You press a kiss to the side of his neck, trailing your tongue up the thick, throbbing vein there. You can’t help but think of another vein, another time you felt his heartbeat thrumming under his skin. His breath hitches and you feel a fine tremor run through him.  _ Hook, line, sinker. _

“You’re incorrigible. If you wanted attention, you could have just said so Darling… I’m always willing to set a little time aside for you,” he says, shifting under you as he cleans up the mess of ink on his hand and desk. 

“There’s no need for that… you can keep working and I’ll…  _ entertain _ myself.” You slide from his lap onto your knees, parting his legs with commanding hands. He swallows audibly, but reaches for a fresh quill. You wait while he cuts the end on an angle and carves the nib how he likes it. You’d never want to risk hurting the man you so deeply adore. When he puts the blade aside, you lavish attention on his thighs. 

They tense under your palms and he groans softly as you rub and squeeze them, working your way slowly upwards towards his groin. His pen scratches against the paper, but slowly now. He takes long pauses as you take your time with him and stops entirely when you finally untie the laces of his trousers. He lets out a soft, grateful groan as you push the fabric away and free his thick, hot cock. 

“Isn’t that supposed to be important?” you ask. He hisses through clenched teeth as you trace around the tip with a single finger, watching as the string of precum stretches and snaps as you pull your hand away. 

“I… can hardly focus on it with you touching me like that,” he says. His voice is a low rumble above you, and your womanhood aches at the sound of it. His voice has always done things to you. You can feel yourself already beginning to soak your underwear, and you know that he would claim you easily later.

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to put it off. It would be a shame for you to ruin your work with ink.” 

You lean forward and plant a kiss against the shaft of his cock and bury your nose in the dusting of blond hair at its base. He smells more heady and sweet now. His hand rests on the back of your head and he strokes your hair in the way he always does when you pleasure him. There is little pressure, Dimitri doesn’t like to force the issue. His strength and size are reason enough, but his gentlemanly demeanor seals the deal. 

You lick a long stripe up the underside of it, delighting in the way it twitches in response. Dimitri’s breathing is quicker now, but you know that you have a long way to go before he’s close. His stamina is impressive. He moans low as you smooth your hand downwards, spreading the slick fluid over his skin. You wish you’d known that you would do this, you would have brought the vial of oil you keep in your bedside table. 

“Darling… please…” he whimpers and rolls his hips, his back arching beautifully. Your husband is a work of art, you think. His good eye burns into you, his pupil blown wide, his alabaster cheeks stained a pretty rose. You never were good at denying him.

You take him into your mouth, salivating at the salty, sweet taste of his skin and precum. You bob your head and hollow your cheeks, a thrill shooting through you as he moans. You peer up at him through your lashes and see him clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds. You long to reach up and take it away so you can hear him, but you both know how the help can gossip. Besides, you need your hands. You can’t quite take all of him, and he deserves to feel good all the way down. 

His hips jerk as you pull away with a pop, stroking him slowly. He still has some time before he finishes. Gone are the days when Dimitri would pop off after only a few minutes. He brushes his hair back away from his face and you’re struck once again by how handsome he is. His face has filled out in peacetime. He had a haunted, hungry look to him during the war, but he’s much healthier now. He’s still haunted by the past sometimes, there are nights when he wakes screaming and thrashing, but they’re becoming less frequent. As Faerghus and Duscur heal, so does he.

He cups your cheek and you resume your worship, your tongue swirling around the tip of him. He shifts and parts his thighs, a silent request. You reach down and cup his balls gently before moving further down to press a knuckle into his perineum. He moans more loudly this time and bites down on his knuckle. Again you curse the spontaneity of this encounter. If you had the oil, you’d ease a finger or two inside him and stroke him properly. Regardless, Dimitri doesn’t seem to mind.

“Does that feel good, Dima?” you ask, trailing your tongue upwards, from root to tip.

“Goddess,  _ yes _ . Please, Darling… please… I’m  _ aching. _ ” 

You hum and lean down, taking him into your mouth once more. You take him deeply, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a moment before bobbing your head once more. Faster now that he’s close. You press and roll your knuckle into the delicate skin separating you and his prostate and he whines, his legs jerking. You watch through your lashes as his head falls back against the chair, his mouth open and his breath coming in harsh, fast pants. 

You take his legs over your shoulders and he arches. His hand strokes your hair, his words become a jumbled mess of your name and swearing. You have almost no warning before he spills himself down your throat. You take him deeply once more, suck hard as he cums. Your ears are ringing. You don’t know if he screamed or if he kept himself silent, but you know that you are humming around him, enjoying the salty tang of his seed.

Finally, you ease off him. He’s whimpering and twitching, overstimulated and dazed in the aftermath of his orgasm. You lick him clean and press a kiss to the tip of his softening dick and tuck him back into his trousers. You lick away any mess left behind on your lips and rock back on your heels, satisfied with your work. He looks at you now, his eye dark and full of hunger. Wordlessly, he pushes the chair back and you squeal when he scoops you up in his arms.

“I can hardly leave you uncompensated, Darling,” is all he says as he kicks the door to his study closed behind him, his strides long and purposeful. “I hope you aren’t tired, because I find myself feeling quite invigorated.” You know that you’ll be walking funny the next morning, but it’s always worth it.

  
  



End file.
